Birthday Present series III: Physical Education
by Deep Rain
Summary: Finland gets a referral, and Germany and Sweden are stuck with thoughts they wish to unthink, or at least optionally un-think when in front of their respective spouses.
1. Unwrapped

"Birthday Present"

by DeepRain

Author's note: very late happy-birthday to Sweden!

Special thanks to Here's Your Cheese Omelette's awesome beta! I luv you Hyco!

* * *

"Are you going to visit Sweden today?" England asked over his cup of tea. Behind the rising steam, France sat with his legs propped on his messy desk, reading a paperback romance. He cocked his head back and gave England an upside down stare.

"Why?"

"His birthday?"

"That's Today? Must have slipped my mind. You got anything for him?"

England waved a tin can tied with ribbon, at which France rolled his eyes.

"Tea again. What a sudden burst of inspiration."

"At least I have something. And I dare you to come up with something other than wine."

France tossed the paperback on his desk and jumped up. He pulled out a bottle of Burgundy from his drawers, which was somehow missing its label and appeared to already be half consumed.

"I will soon. And I'll even let you watch. Come along."

* * *

The two men peeked around the corner of the street and saw Finland coming out of a sauna accessory shop with two bags in hand. England shoved the other man.

"What is this about?"

"Why, this is about Sweden's birthday of course," France pulled out the half bottle of Burgundy. "And don't drink a drop of this because I'm not carrying you back."

With that, France ran after Finland, who was surprised by an unexpected friendly arm draped across his shoulder.

"Ah Finland! Out shopping?"

"Oh good day France! I'm getting Su-san's birthday presents! Norway is throwing him a birthday party this afternoon." The Finn proudly showed the contents of the bags. Birch sauna soap, cedar sauna essence, and pine sauna bucket complete with a ladle; as well as an unmistakable box of salmiakki.

"Ah how considerate of you," cooed France, "I would be a very happy man to have such a considerate significant-other…"

Finland blushed and protested "We just live together…"

"… but all I have is this reluctant listener who smirks at my woes while I pour my heart to him." France gave England a violent slap on the back, who glared back with annoyance.

"You see my friend, I just got dumped."

"Oh I'm sorry to hear that!" Finland said with genuine sympathy.

"That was what I was longing to hear all day, but this awful Brit denied me of that. Can I bribe you with some good Burgundy for you to lend your ears to my sorrow?"

He promptly pulled out three wine glasses from somewhere in his coat.

"Now?"

"Yes now. I shall be brief and succinct with my complaints, so you don't have to worry about missing your sweetheart's party." France steered the Finn towards a riverside bench. "All you have to do is sit and enjoy the good wine."

* * *

Sweden walked home under the drizzle with a few bags of presents in hand. His Nordic and Baltic friends had thrown him a party earlier at Norway's house, and all had a good time without him having to say anything other than a few thank yous. Lithuania and Poland brought a huge spiky Šakotis cake; a pair of amber cufflinks from Latvia; a knitted sweater and a pair of mitts from Estonia; smørrebrød sandwich platter by Norway; and a few bottles of Brennivín schnapps and chocolate from Iceland. Denmark brought a porcelain tea set, along with a stack of adult movies and an elbow in the ribs.

Somehow, Finland wasn't there. He had left this morning with a promise to meet him at the party. They tried to call him a few times, but he didn't answer. So Sweden sat through his birthday party with eyes trained on the door. Now the sun's setting and still no Finland…

He reached his house to find the door unlocked.

Carefully pushing the door open, he saw a card standing on his coffee table along with a tin can tied with ribbons. Hanatamago waddled over to sniff the bags.

_Happy birthday chum! Your present's in your room! Enjoy! - France _

Underneath France's flowery scrawl was someone else's writing.

_I have nothing to do with this. Present's on the table. – England_

He approached his bedroom with suspicion. Letting the door swung open with a creak, he found a very naked Finland sleeping on his bed, hands tied up with pink ribbons.

He stood at the doorway for a long time before he could find his voice.

"Finland."

No response. He tried again.

"Finland!"

When nothing came, Sweden realized he should be worried. Two large strides and he reached the bed, knelt, and patted Finland on the cheeks.

"Finland! Wake up! Wake up!"

"Hm…" Gray eyes fluttered opened, and Finland's sleepy face broke into a brilliant if incoherent smile.

"Su-san…"

Sweden was rooted on the spot, too dazzled by the smile to say anything.

"Su-san…" Finland struggled to sit up, and Sweden hastily loosened the ribbons on his wrists, and inadvertently unwrapped his "present."

Finland threw his freed arms around Sweden's shoulders and pulled him down for a sloppy kiss. Sweden just managed to catch himself with a hand on the headboard before he could land bodily on the naked Finland. Aside from that bit of rational act, he stood there rigid, eyes wide in a kiss he had only ever had in dreams.

Then Finland pressed his body against his, and he pulled back in a start. Before him sat Finland, still decked with ribbons and smiling at him with an unnaturally dazed and happy face.

"Happy birthday Su-san…"

_Too good' a be true. _

Sweden dragged his gaze away and hurriedly pulled the bedspread around Finland in a tight wrap. Finland moaned in protest, struggling against the new constraint.

"I want to hug you Su-san…"

Seeing there was no way to keep him still, Sweden lied down behind Finland, now cocooned in a crisp white sheet, and wound both arms around the squirming body.

"Go back t'sleep."

After a few minutes of weak tussling, his present fell back to sleep; his warm body breathing evenly in his arms.

Slowing letting go of Finland, Sweden got off the bed carefully. The duvet was stuck under Finland sleeping body, so he went into Finland's room, took the blankets and gently laid it over the supine form. Remembering Finland's naked form underneath, he took the spare duvet from the closet and piled that on Finland as well.

That night he lay on the sofa with a quilt, hesitant of remembering that kiss he should have never received.

* * *

Finland woke up in an unfamiliar bed with a familiar smell. The morning sun was too bright, so he huddled deeper into the warm pocket underneath the fluffy duvet. He'll sleep-in for bit before he heads out to buy Su-san's presents…

But he already bought Su-san's presents.

He bolted upright. _The party!_

Cold air touched his skin, and Finland ducked back beneath the multitudes of duvets and comforters, terrified at his lack of clothes. And of all the places to be bare, he found himself in Su-san's room. Back in the darkness under the blankets, his brain slowly patched together what happened yesterday.

He was shopping, then he met France and England, then he drunk the wine, and then… Then somehow he was so glad to see Su-san that he started kissing him. Naked. Finland moaned and pressed the duvet into his already hidden face. He had thought missing Su-san's birthday party after promising he'd go was bad, but attempting to seduce Su-san under the influence and without any clothes on was mortifying beyond imagination.

_Oh what would Su-san think! Oh France! What have you put in the wine!_

After several minutes of miserable self-pitying under the blankets, Finland finally pulled his head out again. He found his pajamas and underwear folded in a neat stack on the night stand, and quickly pulled them on. Su-san even left his slippers by the bed. Peaking out the door, he could hear his housemate cooking in the kitchen. A thin quilt and a pillow were thrown haphazardly on the sofa outside. Hanatamago was coiled up by the door.

Su-san must have slept on the sofa last night. Finland pulled back and shut the door, feeling even more wretched. He missed his birthday party, tried to seduce him, made him sleep on the sofa, and he still woke up to make breakfast for him.

Finland huddled back into Sweden's bed, thoroughly ashamed of himself. Of course he knew Su-san wanted him to be more than his housemate, yet he would take all the care and attention Su-san showers on him, and pretend it was all out of good faith. Maybe one day Su-san would simply give up. He'll find him at the door one morning with a suitcase, leaving him the entire house that he built for them both.

Finland didn't even want to imagine how Su-san would take that inebriated kiss. He was just relieved that he was even more of gentleman than he thought.

The door opened and Su-san came in with a tray.

"Feelin' alright?"

Finland nodded with a red face as Sweden set breakfast on the nightstand. It was his favorite, an open sandwich with boiled egg and cheese; yet his view of the breakfast was quickly getting blurry.

"Su-san…I'm so sorry…" He could feel his throat closing up. "…the party, I was really going to go…

"Tis' alright."

"And I made you sleep on the sofa… "

"Ti's alright."

_Su-san, stop it! _

"…and last night…I wasn't myself… I really didn't mean to…"

This time, there was a long silence before Sweden answered in a tight voice. "Ti's alright. I know y' didn't."

Finland shook his head hard, too choked up to reply.

_But it's not alright. Because I know you wanted it, just not like that._

Not like that. Finland thought to himself. He wiped off his face and knelt on the bed.

"Su-san." He waved at him to come closer, and took off Su-san's glasses as he bent towards him. Carefully laying the spectacles on nightstand, Finland pulled him down for a kiss. Too embarrassed to open his eyes, he pressed on until he couldn't breath. Pulling back, he saw Su-san blinking in astonishment, hands hovering with a slight tremble next to Finland's shoulders. He grabbed his hand.

Finland use to think Su-san was exceptionally scary without his glasses because he squints, but apparently not when he's blushing and an inch from his face. Finland whispered breathless, forehead against forehead.

"But I do now."

Sweden carefully placed his other hand on his cheek, as if unconvinced. Finland smiled into his big hand.

"Thank you for being so patient with me."

"I'm glad it paid off."

There was a growling, and they looked down to see Hanatamago pulling at the hem Sweden's slacks.

"Read t' atmosphere, canine." Sweden glared down with not much force. Finland giggled. He was about to say happy birthday when he remembered his presents.

"Oh no! Did France leave all the presents I got for you on the riverbank?"

"They're in th' livin' room. Thank you. They're nice."

Finland sat back and sighed in relief. Still holding Sweden's hands, he asked.

"Su-san… would you… would you like to um, join me in the sauna after breakfast?"

"Maybe a'ter lunch, needa run some errand."

"On a Sunday?"

"Private business. Now eat y' breakfast, I'll make some tea."

* * *

A knock at the door woke France from his mid-morning doze on the couch. He slouched towards the entrance, passing England who was reading in an armchair.

He found Sweden at the door.

"Oh good morning Sweden, so did you like th— "

Sweden landed a fist in his stomach, and he doubled over and almost threw up from the force. France looked up from the floor with blurry eyes, to see a very displeased Norseman approaching him with all the vengeance of a former Viking on the brink of going berserk.

France frantically waved his hands.

"Don't tell me you didn't like my present!"

Sweden paused for second, considering.

"I did." Then proceed to knee him in the face.

France fell back with a groan, nose bleeding. England gracefully re-crossed his legs to avoid the skidding pile of carcass from soiling his polished ammo boots. Sweden picked up the foaming France by the collar.

"Touch m'wife ag'n and I'll wipe y' off t' fuckin' map. Un'stood?"

France winced and gave a pitiful smile.

"Please don't hit the face?"

* * *

As Sweden turned the keys at the door, he had a slight panic attack. Suppose Finland changed his mind, or maybe he wasn't as sober as he thought, or maybe he himself was hallucinating from want? The fear to find an empty house was almost overwhelming.

The smell of broiled fish and fresh baked bread warmed his face as he walked in. Finland stood by the table, setting down a steaming pot of pea soup with mitted hands. An apron was cinched tightly around his waist.

"Just in time Su-san! Lunch's ready!"

Sweden stood at the doorway, taking in the amazingly vision with renewed wonder. He shut the door, strode over and pulled Finland into a hard kiss. When he finally pulled back, Finland huddled meekly in his arms, dimpled cheeks turning red.

"Su-san…?"

"Jus' checkin'."

Finland headbutted his chest softly in defiance, and Sweden rested his chin on his flaxen hair.

"Late happy birthday Su-san."

"Thank you." He said, voice tinged with a bit of amusement, "Y' make a great present."

"Su-san!"

* * *

France woke up on the floor a few hours later.

"Huh? Why am I lying here?"

"Because you're a pervert." England said before stepping over him to refill his tea.

France glared. Then he saw England's bum and lightened up. He would be prepared for America's on-coming birthday. He already knows what his present will be, and this time, France knew the recipient wasn't the kind to be fussy about the content's consent.

_~End~_

* * *

Please feed reviews :O


	2. The Special Relationship

Birthday Present II: the Special Relationship

by Deep Rain

Special thanks to Here's Your Cheese Omelette for the beta!

Author's Note: This happy-birthday to US has SO expired, but whatever. Frequent references to guns are purely coincidental, I do not belong to the NRA. And I am not a Fracophobe, since Himaruya was having so much fun punishing him, so will I.

* * *

In America, everything is done big. Big cars, big guns, and big parties. So when America's birthday came around, he made sure it was done the old-fashioned American way. A few weeks before July 4th, every country received an invitation to come to his party; whether they were even remotely interested or not. Mailboxes around the world rattled as a big star-striped invitation was dropped inside, and stayed there silently through the early dawn, until their owners decided wake up. All mailboxes except for one, that is.

Outsides of England's house, a shady figure reached into the letterbox and pulled out the invitation card. A shady figure that, as a matter of fact, bore a striking resemblance to France. After pilfering the mail, he went around the house and jammed a wrench into the aging air conditioner hanging through the window.

With the day's work done, he strode off whistling in the cool air.

* * *

July 4th

The late morning sun slipped through the thin white curtains fluttering at the window, as England sat at his wooden desk reading a book he really didn't care about. Every so often his gaze would fall on the silent phone at the corner of his desk.

It's actually very like that America would call him at the last minute to demand his presence at his birthday party, nothing unusual. Really.

He went to pour himself a glass whisky.

* * *

American's garden was packed. Three barbeque grills sizzled away under the blazing sun, cooking the air into a trembling jelly. And although America wouldn't mind filling all three grills with fatty ribs and corn-on-the-cobs swimming in butter, he was also adventurous with new foods. So after some persuasion by his guests, his sizzling ribs shared the grill with shish kebabs and yakitori and satay, among various other things, all meticulously tended by their respective advocates.

Next to the grill, Veneziano and Romano skewered tomatoes with wooden sticks, while Spain devotedly fanned the later with a paper plate. Behind them, Germany finished seasoning a big bowl of potato salad. Austria meticulously cut up the sachertorte he brought with the aid of a protractor, and Greece coldly pulled his baklava platter from under Turkey's hand. The backdoor of the kitchen was thrown wide open, and Lithuania was busy throwing together a wild berry salad while Seychelles sprinkled nutmeg into her yam pudding. Outside the white picket fence, Zimbabwe and Hungary returned from the nearby liquor store, each carrying a twenty-four pack beer. A radio blared out through an open window with tinny pop music of a local station. Russia absent mindedly mixed a jug of Yorsh while staring at the sun with a brand new pair of shades.

Midst the chaos, France wore the minimal clothing allowed under the American law and lounged in a deckchair with a bottle of Kronenbourg in hand, with no intention of helping whatsoever. He scanned the crowd with appreciation, noting how few fabric everyone was wearing underneath the sun. Even Lichtenstein was wearing a tank top, and Switzerland couldn't seem to decide where to put his eyes.

Gravel crunched, and Sweden's Saab SUV pulled up into the driveway. Compensating for his guzzler, he had offered to carpool his other Nordic friends. As the passengers poured out, Sweden went around to open the door for his sweetheart. France gleefully noted Finland's slightly awkward gait that bespoke of someone who's not particularly flexible compelled to bend to too long too hard. Sweden shuffled closely behind his wife, looking appropriately apologetic.

It appears that their past month had not been spent in vain, France thought with tremendous accomplishment.

A young boy scuttled off the back seat and followed the couple. France frowned. Who was that? Not even Latvia was that short. And those inch-thick eyebrows had an uncanny resemblance to someone who will not be showing up today.

Shrugging, he leaned back and looked at America. The shirtless man kept glancing up from the grill to his driveway, occasionally pulling out his phone as if to dial, only to put it away after a few seconds.

France chuckled and laid back, waiting for the food to be done.

Patience young man, patience.

* * *

It was four thirty in the afternoon, and England realized he just went through an entire bottle of whisky. The hot afternoon air packed his drawing room relentlessly, and for some reason his air condition refused to work. Pacing the room like a caged animal, he tripped on a gift-wrapped box, and after staring at it for a second, he kicked it under the sofa.

Bloody bastard.

He threw himself down on a divan near the window. It was cheerfully sunny outside, all bright and happy with chirping birds, and currently he wanted nothing to do with it, despite his very clammy shirt.

Giving his phone another petulant glare, he pulled the cord off and threw an arm over his eyes. He told himself they were blurry because he was getting drunk.

Jerk. See if I care.

* * *

The sinking eight thirty sun painted the sky red, under which a game of beach ball raged on the lawn. It was Kenya, Belarus, Lichtenstein, Seychelles, and Ukraine, versus Zimbabwe, Hungary, Belgium, Taiwan, and Canada, who was invited to make up five players on their team. France protested intensely over why they didn't pick him.

The less active portion of the world sat around with their second or third beer of the day. America, on the other hand, drained the last can in a six pack. He seemed bent on topping Russia's blood alcohol content with beer, which is a futile endeavor considering his opponent's choice of beverage. One could probably get high on Russia's blood.

"America-san, you shouldn't be drinking so much." Japan reminded the sullen man as he cracked open another can. America shrugged as he unwrapped China's present: an ornate back scratcher and a deadly wok.

"Oh don't bother the man, 'tis an occasion to drink to." France said, grabbing a handful of dried sardine fries from Japan's bowl while watching Ukraine jumped to block a volley. "Great party you threw, America. And it's very kind of you invite so many people."

America took another gulp of beer murmured. "Apparently England thinks it's not good enough for him…"

Tsk. Look at all that pent up anger and pent up something else. France feigned a surprised and cautious tone.

"England? But I thought… I though you didn't want him here?"

American frowned and put the can down "Why do you say that?"

"Well, I just thought you two fell through and… well, I didn't think you invited him!"

"Of course I did! His invitation card was the first to be sent out!"

"Fascinating! Because just yesterday England told me that he didn't receive an invitation card, and I thought there might be something awkward going on so I didn't ask more… "

It took America a tad longer to figure that out than France expected. Meanwhile, Belarus served the ball straight into Canada's face, who was then being escorted off the court by Kumajiro while Cuba took his place.

"Oh my god! The card must have gotten lost in the mail!"

You're almost too dumb for my plan, America. France pushed the business a bit more.

"Oh, that would be terribly unfortunate! You should call him up now and have him come! He must feel tremendously left out!"

America pulled out his phone and dialed.

"The call's not going through…"

"He must be throwing a tantrum now! Well, go find him then! You're birthday will be over in less than four hours! Sweden, drive our birthday star to England's place this instance!"

Sweden, who was still holding a grudge against him, glared. Then his better-half whispered.

"Su-san, can you go? You're the only one here who hasn't drank and has a car, and England must feel really lonely now…"

So the pushover stood up and went to his car.

America was about to get into the car when Sweden yanked him back.

"Put on ya' shirt."

"Oh right, right."

A nosy pushover at that, thought France.

As Sweden's car pulled onto the road, America rolled down the window and yelled to his guests.

"The fireworks start at ten thirty! Don't fall asleep!"

France shooed. "We'll be fine ourselves. Now off with you both! "

* * *

The evening breeze gradually woke American from his beer-induced haze. He rubbed his eyes and tried dialing England's again.

_I should have called much earlier._

America sighed and snapped his phone shut. He turned to the driver, looking apologetic.

"Thanks for driving me."

"Hm."

"Can't believe he didn't get the invitation…" He murmured again.

There was a short silence filled only by the whistling wind and the engine. Then Sweden spoke up.

"Did ya' get France's present yet?"

"No, I didn't think he got one for me."

"Hmm."

The interjection stretched a bit longer this time, and America got suspicious.

"Why? You know what he's got for me?"

Sweden looked as if he was about to explain, but settled for anther question.

"Do ya' like 'ngland?"

America was slightly taken aback, then stuttered to answer.

"Well, I guess… I mean, he's a bit of an ass some times, actually most of the time, and especially when I was a kid…"

"But do ya' like 'im?"

America was glad Sweden had to keep his eyes on the road, or else he would have gotten a very piercing glare.

"I guess… so, most of the time—"

"I really like Finland."

"W…what?"

Sweden pulled over and stopped the car, then turned to meet him in the eyes.

"I said I really like Finland. Matter fact I'm madly in love with 'im. An' not just mosta th' time."

America was starting to feel distinctly cornered.

"And if ya' can't say the same 'bout 'ngland, I don't think ya' should go find 'im now."

"Why?"

"Ya'd make 'im feel lika fool. An' I'm speakin' from experience. Now make up ya' mind, I'm gonna go make a call."

Sweden stepped out of the car, leaving America to himself.

America pulled out his phone again, letting the backlight lit up his face.

_Easy for him to say. _America thought as he glowered at the blue light. It's not a particularly dignifying kind of feeling for him admit towards his former colonist. And England's personality doesn't make it any easier.

Looking out the windshield, he saw Sweden pacing slowly while talking into his phone. Was he talking to Finland? America can't deny he was a bit jealous at how candid their relationship was. Sure, Finland liked to keep his private life exactly that, but he certainly wasn't trying hard enough to hide the fact that he lives with man.

And England? Well… he… he comes over reluctantly when he wants to watch _The Ring_?

America tried again.

Well… he complains about his cooking but eats it anyways, a favor that he returned.

He went through thick and thin with him when he had an overblown staring contest with Russia.

And told him not to go tearing down Iraq's house without a plan to rebuild it, and when he didn't listen, England went in and stayed with him anyways. He stayed even after what happened on the subway…

The car door opened and Sweden peered in.

"So?"

America looked up, slightly despondent.

"You think he likes me? I caused him so much trouble…"

Sweden frowned at the question.

"Are ya' serious?"

"What?"

He got in the car and started the engine.

"Ya'r lack of perception is disconcertin' consideratin' how much powe' you wield."

"Wait, you think he likes me too? How do you know?"

"'is face."

"What, did his face give him away?"

"Yeah. I see that face in th' mirror everyday. Now put on ya' seatbelt, ya' don't have much time."

* * *

Another round of kalashnikov fired, and England ducked behind a crumbling wall of Kuwait's house. He could feel the grit of sand in his mouth. When silence settled again, he slowly pushed the barrel of his SA80 through a crack in the wall. Heavy sand blew behind the black cross of his rifle scope.

A shadow emerged, and he laid his finger on the trigger.

Then he saw America walking towards him, sand trailing his steps and an M16 dangling jauntily in his hand. He smiled straight at him through the rifle scope and raised his gun.

The thunder of bullets exploded, and England felt something grazed his face. He fell back and yelled.

"Stop! It's me! England!"

Silence followed, and England exhaled in relief; until he heard another cartridge being loaded. He braced as America emptied another round on the wall in front of him.

"Stop! America! It's me, England! Stop it!"

He heard a shuffle of footsteps, and looked up to see young America standing above him on the low wall, chubby hands hauling the still smoking assault rifle.

"I found you England!" He grinned happily.

_Put it down America…_

When the bullets ripped his chest, his own gun was still laying limply on his lap.

He couldn't breath. He was burning.

A glass shattered.

England jerked awake on the divan, chest heaving with heartbeat throbbing in his ears. He had dropped the whisky glass, and the floor was now covered with shards gleaming from the moonlight outside. The room was pitch dark otherwise.

He mechanically got up to pick up the pieces, then the full bottle whisky hit his brain. His left hand landed on the glass shards, trying to break the fall. Muttering a curse, England sat down next to the divan, head bowed.

He was a wreck in so many ways. His shirt was drenched, and to his horror, so was his face. England was about to wipe his face when he realized they were bloodied. Pulling out the shards with his other shaking hand, he observed the sliver of glass with morbid curiosity.

And it was just a stupid birthday party.

He peeled off his shirt, and the doorbell rang. England couldn't decide if the blaring doorbell or the prospect of a guest was more infuriating.

"What?" He yelled with a hoarse voice.

"England! It's me! Are you alright? Let me in!"

_Bloody hell. I can't handle this._

"Fuck off!"

"I'm sorry you didn't get my card! But let me in!"

"I don't fucking care! Get lost!"

"England!"

He was about to escape to his room when he heard the big ape broke down his door. Just like that.

_Shit. I'm gonna kill him._

* * *

America got off the car in front of England's doorsteps, and Sweden drove off behind him. Just as he wondered how he was supposed to get back later, he heard the shattering of glass inside the house. He banged on the door.

"England! It's me! Are you alright? Let me in!"

"Fuck off!"

_Uh-oh. He must be drunk._

"I'm sorry you didn't get my card! But let me in!"

"I don't fucking care! Get lost!"

America rattled the door harder. "England!"

Something crunched, and the door gave away. Just like that. He stumbled into the room.

_Shit. England's gonna kill me. _

One look at the occupant and the unhinged door in his hands threaten to slip. England stood shirtless by the tall window, a sheen of tear and sweat on his face and body glistened under the moonlight. There was a smudge of blood on his already flushed cheeks, topped off with an intoxicated death glare from underneath his wet fringes.

_God bless loose board shorts._

"…Ah…hi… ah… I'll fix the door. I swear! Um... Are you alright?"

America stuttered and leaned the broken door gingerly against the wall.

A silky, measured voice. "You're not _invited_. Get out."

_Sarcasm? He must be very drunk._

"Look, I'm very sorry you didn't get my card. I swear I sent it out! I wrote yours first! Wait! Where are you going—?"

He chased after the swaying figure, reaching out to grab his hand. Either he pulled too hard, or the man was even weaker than he appeared; England stumbled back against him. The temporary contact froze both of them in mid-step, then England flung his hand away. Feeling something sticky in his palm, America realized England's left hand was bleeding. He reached out again, this time pulling him back by the arm.

"Hold on! You're bleeding!"

"Why do you care?"

Pinned, America averted his eyes, trying to find something within reach to bind the wound. He was reluctant to let go of England's hand.

"Well… I just do…"

He settled for a lace doily on the coffee table. Clumsily tying the fabric on, he peeked at England's face, then lowered his gaze again under the icy glare.

"Um… do you… wanna come to my house? Everyone's gonna be staying late…"

"No."

"Oh. Um… how about I order some pizza for us…"

"No."

"Oh…uh… how about—"

"No."

_Ouch._

He let go of the bound hand and just stood there, rubbing his own sweaty hands on his pants. What would Sweden say in a situation like this?

"Um… you're beautiful?"

He held his breath and waited. After a long silence came England's tired voice.

"You like to watch me cry?"

_Oh crap._

"No no no! That's not what I mean! I… I meant, like, overall…I…" He saw England's exhausted face and muttered. "… Sweden said you like me, so I thought…"

"… so you thought you'd make up some shit to cheer me up?"

"I didn't make—"

Then inebriated tantrum finally set in.

"You bloody bastard! Fucking harebrained git! I didn't raise you to be such a dimwitted waste of carbon—" He punctuated his rant with drunken punches on America's chest, who wondered if he should pretend they hurt.

"— I don't care about your stupid party. I don't care about you. I didn't even care when you bombed me in—"

America hurriedly threw his arms around him. "I'm sorry about the friendly fires, okay! And I didn't make that up! I was serious! I was really serious!"

Looking for a way to stop England from recounting all his transgressions, he tightened his arms to smothered England's face against his chest, who struggled weakly to get away.

"I should have called right away instead of waiting for France to tell me that you didn't receive my card, but I just thought that maybe… maybe you weren't interested in coming… so, well… But I was really happy when Sweden said… said that you like me and stuff…"

The thrashing gradually subsided, and America could feel England breathing heavily against his shoulder.

Then came a low muffled voice.

"Serious about what?"

"What?"

"You were serious about what?"

The embarrassment of his earlier declaration surfaced. Now it felt like a very sappy thing to say.

"Oh. Oh that… um, well, you heard…"

Another feeble punch in the stomach.

"Say it."

"But…"

"Say it, you bastard. Or I'm never talking to you again."

America could feel him clutching the hem of his t-shirt, so he pressed his lips against England's ear and whispered.

* * *

There were fireworks at the far horizon. Distant sparkles of red and blue, one after another, flaring up, then slowly petering out before another surge of light. Not unlike his tired eyes, slowly falling shut before he urged them open again.

They were on the roof of his Georgian house with wooden shingles on their backs and the night wind in their faces. He was draped ungracefully over America's lap, soft cotton t-shirt pressed against his cheek. He excused himself by arguing that he was too drunk to remember any of this tomorrow anyways.

_Apparently not._

England glared at the morning sun through his bedroom window, then at the snoring idiot next to him who was hogging all the blankets. He sat up and took a good look at America's oblivious face. The last time they shared a bed, America still had a layer of baby-fat on his cheeks.

Taking the mangled doily off his hand, he headed to the shower and turned the water on full force against his body. The whisky was not agreeing with his head at all. England wondered what he would have done if America hadn't shown up. Maybe he would have cracked open another bottle of whisky or the like. What if Sweden hadn't given him away to America? Or if France didn't tell him that he didn't receive…

_Wait. Wait a second._

How the hell did France know he didn't get America's invitation?

_Oh no no no, that jerk did not…_

He was mentally going through the list of curses we wanted to throw when he heard the bathroom door being thrown open.

"Hey England, you're up already!"

He poked his head out of the shower curtain to see America stripping before him.

"What the hell are you doing in here! I'm taking a shower! Get out!"

"Hey can I join you?"

"No!"

America flung the shower curtain aside and stepped in.

Fat load of good his protests did; as always. England was, however, inspired to seek another way of revenge besides hexing. After a very lengthy shower that included various none-ablution related activities, he stumbled out of the bathroom and tossed America the key to his Bentley.

"Drive us to France's. Now."

So forty-five minutes later, he was banging on France's door with America in tow.

"Get out you mangy mutt!"

The door opened to reveal France in a silken red bathrobe.

"Oh, good morning England! Ah, I see America's with you, too!"

They walked in and America beamed at their host.

"Good morning France! Thanks for telling me about the card yesterday, or else I would've never thought—"

"Oh shut up." England pulled America down by the collar into a sloppy kiss, then pushed him back and instructed.

"Now, we can continue what we were doing in the shower _after_ you beat this bloody jerk up for me."

After a few seconds of dazed smile, America picked up a chair, decided it wasn't to his liking, put it down and picked the couch instead. France cowed at the corner of the room.

"Wait wait wait! England! I did everything for your sake! It was out of the most sincere and genuine concern for both of your wellbeing! I apologize if it inconvenienced you! I'll make it up! I swear!"

"Hold on America."

England laid a hand on America's shoulder and walk towards France.

"Fewf… thanks…"

With hands in his pockets, England drawled.

"Don't thank me just yet. I wouldn't have called it quits if I didn't have some use for you. So listen carefully. I have a very young brother who has recently ran away from home—"

"Wait, you mean—"

"America, please shut up. Now France, it's high time for the boy to come home now. I believe he is currently lurking somewhere near Sweden's house, so if you can bring him back to me, I will spare you the beating that was planned for the next three hours. The dumb boy will likely scream and yell and make up some outrageous claims, but don't mind him, just bring him back at whatever cost. Understood?"

France cautiously relaxed his shoulders and asked.

"Alright alright. What this boy's name?"

"Sealand."

When the door closed behind France, America finally spoke up. "I thought you were happy that Sweden adopted Sealand? You want him back now?"

"No. But don't worry about that. The bathroom, shall we? Or we can try the couch if you don't mind putting it down"

Happily setting the coach down, America sidled up to him "Hey England, I saw this box on your floor last night—"

"It's not yours."

"But my birthday present—"

England loosened his tie. "You already got one here, you greedy bastard."

* * *

Finland was collecting the laundry in the backyard when he heard the scuffle. He dropped the basket and ran to the front of the house to see France dragging Sealand away.

"France! What are you doing?" He ran over and tried to pull Sealand back, but France wouldn't let go.

"I'm saving this future-delinquent's ass so I can save my own ass. Come on kid! Time to go home!"

Sealand yelled and kicked. "This _is_ my home! Let go!"

"Oh please. You're just like your brother."

France hauled Sealand up from under the arms, and Finland hastily latched onto the boy's ankles. He screamed.

"Su-san! Help!"

There was some clatter in the house, and moments later the front door was flung open and Sweden came out.

A few quite seconds passed as Sweden took in the scene. France hauling Sealand, Sealand with shirt hiked up to his chest, and Finland holding onto Sealand's ankles for dear life. The later two were on the brink of tears. Hanatamago was tearing at the hem of France's pants.

He stomped back into the house.

His reaction was so unexpected that Finland actually let go of Sealand, carefully taking a few steps towards the house.

"S…Su-san?"

Through the open front door, and then through the still-swinging bedroom door inside, he saw Sweden rummaging through the bottom of their closet.

"Oh no. Oh no. Oh God no. France! Run!" He shoved the clueless man.

"Wait, what?"

"Run! Hurry!"

France took a few haphazard steps backwards until he saw what Finland meant. Sweden walked out of the house with his elk-hunting Winchester M70 in one hand and a magazine of .308 in the other. Finland covered Sealand's eyes and yelled.

"Su-san! Put it down!"

Sweden loaded his rifle.

"Finland, take Sealand inside."

He pushed his glasses up into his hair and aimed, while France tried to run in a serpentine pattern.

* * *

July 14th

France birthday party this year was held in his splendid rose garden as usual, though this year the host was constrained to a divan on the lawn, laying face down holding a glass of wine. All the guests enjoyed the fabulous food and weather without France's active participation.

_Heartless wretches._ Thought France.

Finally, Canada came over with sincere concern and a plate of food for him.

"How are you feeling France?"

"As well as a man could be with a wounded bum."

"I'm sorry to hear that—"

"Put me down you rude peasant!" Someone screamed at the gate of the garden, cutting Canada short.

America walked in carrying a naked Austria tied up in pink ribbons.

"Happy birthday France!"

France scratched his stubbly chin. "Hmm… tactless, exceeding unoriginal, but very sincere and forthright… I like that."

He took a sip of his wine and turned to Canada.

"Don't feel sorry, Canada. I've accumulated an impressive collection of good karma."

* * *

-The End-

Lots of review will increase the chance of possible, possible, future Spain/Romano, or Germany/Italy, or more Su/Fin. So bring it on.


	3. Physical Education

Birthday Present III: Physical Education

By Deep Rain

Special thanks to Here's Your Cheese Omelette and Sadik for accepting the beta! Sorry I jumped the gun, but please point out any snaffus in the comments!

Author's Note: would you believe me if I told you that this was meant to be done the December of 2009? And curse the interface for screwing up my format again, took me hours to fix!

* * *

Two weeks before December 6th, Sweden made a call and ordered five crates of Champagne.

Ten days before December 6th, Sweden wrote the party invitations on gilded cards and had them delivered first class with tracking and insurance.

One week before December 6th, he called in a cleaning company to clean the rugs with steam vacuums.

Five days before December 6th, Finland was wondering if this isn't an over-kill for a birthday party.

* * *

Wednesday December 3rd

Sweden was talking on the phone, gruffly instructing the bakery over the exact shade of white the cake is suppose to be. Finland huddled on the couch hugging a pillow.

And to think that all he gave him for birthday were sauna accessories.

When Sweden hung up, Finland tossed the pillow aside snuck up behind him, brainstorming for something to say that will show his gratitude.

Sweden turned around and bumped into him, dropping his Wife's-Birthday-Planner notebook.

"Oh sorry! Sorry for standing behind you like that…"

"'S alright."

Finland was still at a lost of words.

Well, at least…

Embarrassed by what he was about to do, Finland shut his eyes and hastily pulled Sweden down for what was meant to be a quick peck on the lips.

And then head-butted his housemate on the face.

"Sorry! Oh god I'm so sorry!"

Sweden covered his nose, staring at him perplexed through skewed glasses. In a last ditched attempt, Finland flung his arms around Sweden for a squeeze.

He flung his arms and knocked over the vase behind Sweden. After am eruption of shattering porcelain and spilling water, Finland stood aside with head hung low as Sweden quietly inspected him for any injury before turning around to pick up the mess.

Finland darted back to his room mortified.

He's really not good at this, is he?

That night Finland laid in bed an made a birthday resolution: He shall do all in his power to better his… well, skills.

And for the life of it, he could not think of another person to ask but…

* * *

Thursday December 4th

France asked him the third time: "Swear on your amazing Nordic healthcare that Sweden does not know you're here."

"I swear! He's at the grocery store and I left a note for him that I'm at Estonia's and Estonia promised to play along if Sweden asked. Don't worry!"

France glared at him for a few seconds, then cheered up and flashed an brilliant if not slightly immodest smile.

"Well, in that case why should I grudge to provide you with the most excellent and hands-on instruction in—"

He sat down next to Finland and the still-tender wound on his bum throbbed.

"—ouch but how about I give you a referral since I'd hate to escalate this into an international crisis?"

He scribbled a phone number down on a paper napkin and tossed it on Finland.

Finland frowned at the name.

"You sure? "

"My protégé, excels in every respect of amorous display. Now get going or else I might not see the sunrise tomorrow."

* * *

The rolling tract of vineyard stopped by a little tool shack, and on a rickety little bench next to it sat the fidgeting Finland.

Then from behind a low stone wall, Italy came skipping in with a wurst wrapped with paper in his hands.

"Oh hi Finland! There you are! You said you wanted to talk?"

This is such a bad idea.

"Um… yeah…"

Italy plopped down next to him and took another bite of sausage, his eyes intent on Finland with inquiry.

"Well… you see… You know how I'm kind of… together with Sweden, but I feel like I'm bad showing him that… that I like him. Like the other day I tried to kiss him and ended up hitting his nose, and then smashed a vase trying to hug him…"

He peaked at Italy from the corner of his eye.

Not laughing yet, good.

"So I thought maybe I should ask for some advises about… like… …France said you're really good at it."

Italy grinned without swallowing.

"'e's rot I om."

Then gulping down his food, Italy stood up.

"Well, there this thing I do that Germany really likes— "

Finland subconsciously cowered.

* * *

This entire exchange is too mind-blowingly embarrassing that Finland does not know where to look. So he stared at the now discarded wurst wrapper on the ground and tried not to fall off the bench.

"It… Italy... I don' think…ah…ah I don't think Su-san is going to…"

Italy looked up and tried to talk around a mouthful.

"'gerony erly iksh ig hen I goo ig"

* * *

Friday December 5th

When, for the third time, Finland spun around and stumbled away when they ran into each other in the house, Sweden realized that his wife was avoiding him like a plague. They had decided early yesterday that they would go downtown to pick up some last minute supplies together, and now it seemed like that wasn't going to happen and he did not know what he did wrong.

After milling around the house longer than necessary, Sweden took the keys, put on his coat and decided that he could do this himself, only to give up and end up in front of Finland's door.

"Finland."

He wasn't expecting a response, but the silence still stung.

"Finland. 'm leavin… Do ya wan anythin?"

He gave it a good twenty seconds before turning away.

_Maybe he's asleep. Shouldn't have disturbed him._

He was about to shut the door behind him when he heard Finland stumbling out of his room. He looked back, inwardly sighing in relief as he saw Finland pulling on his shoes in clumsy half-hops.

"I'll…I'll come too!"

* * *

After the farmer's market and the confectionary and the patisserie, things almost felt normal again, and Sweden was willing to ignore the fact that Finland still wasn't meeting his eyes. It wasn't like those happened too often even on regular days anyways. They walked side-by-side down the street, bags daggling off their, but mostly his, arms.

Perhaps he was just nervous about the party, thought Sweden. He did invite a lot of nations, and mostly without asking Finland. And suppose the bakery didn't get shade of the cake right? He should've just paid Austria to bake the cake…

Oh look.

Germany and Italy are in town, too.

Italy spotted him over the rim of his pizza crust. Dragging Germany along, he darted towards them while waving like a maniac.

"Hi— Sweden—! Hi— Finland—!"

He heard a paper bag hit the ground. Sweden turned around and found Finland rooted on the spot with an expression of the utmost terror that rivaled the one he had when Russia busted through his windows in 1809.

Italy skidded to a halt in front of them. Sweden was just about to dip into his small reserve of salutations for Germany when Italy exclaim with a big grin.

"So did you like it?"

Finland whimpered and covered his face.

Demoting his manners below the wellbeing of his wife, Sweden ignored them.

"Finland? Ya alrigh? "

Italy barreled on, and even winked at him.

"I taught him well didn't I?"

Germany pulled him back, who was almost plastering his face on Sweden. "Taught what? What are you talking about? And good afternoon to you both."

If possible, Italy's grin stretched even wider.

"That trick I do under your desk of course! You always liked it, and Finland asked me to—"

Germany's eyes grew wide, and those of Sweden's grew even wider.

* * *

"— and Finland asked me to whfmmr—"

Germany pressed his gloved hand on that bawdy mouth before his consistently inconsistent ally could spell out his own death. He looked up and found Sweden still staring at Italy, and he inched backwards with the flailing body in his arms.

How long would it take Sweden to launch his squadron of 39 Gripens, and would he have time to intercept them before they could firebomb his ally's vital regions?

Germany took an involuntarily glance at Finland.

* * *

"— and Finland asked me to whfmmr—"

Sweden almost sighed in relief to see that bawdy mouth censored in a timely manner, or else he would be compelled to violate more than several Geneva Conventions and make Germany feel that he had a bargain at Nuremberg. There was a shuffle behind him, and Sweden clenched his hand around Finland's wrist before he could run away. Finland had his face buried in his other palm.

Sweden took an involuntary glance at Italy.

* * *

International crisis can often feel like an inevitable spiral towards Doomsday when you're in the midst of it. However, this might be one of the few occasions when your history professor can offer optimistic and consoling words concerning the state of the world:

1898, Fashoda Incident. England and France was about to gauge each other's eyes out over who gets to raise our doe-eyed boy Fashoda (never mind Fashoda doesn't want either of them there,) when England realized that Germany's been hitting the gym too much recently, and decided he might want France as a country-shield should Germany start punching things besides sand bags.

1962, Cuban Missile Crisis. To avoid mutually assured destruction (MAD), America decided to stop hiding bombs in Italy's underwear while Russia decided to stop hiding bombs in Cuba's underwear.

The above are just two of many examples that serve to illustrate, that, despite our chronic historic-myopia and craven belligerence, two countries can flick the safties on their guns back on if necessary.

For Germany and Sweden, the necessity derives from their inability to remain riled. There are two types of people whom one could not muster the will to berate:

Type 1. someone so mortified by their transgressions that the sheer volume of their humiliation and repentance overwhelms any attempt to stay mad at said person;

Type 2. someone so completely, genuinely, and blissfully clueless as to what they did wrong that staying mad at said person is a waste of one's time.

And when we have the archetype of these two categories contiguously present, well, even countries as stoic as Germany and Sweden would have to relent, and an international crisis is resolved.

Right?

But wait a while! We're letting these two husbands off the hook too fast!

Dear audience, do you sincerely believe that these two countries are beyond lubricious thoughts that even they themselves are ashamed of?

* * *

It is simply unforgivably when the thought of one's lover carrying on with another person can make his face flush from reasons besides anger. Sweden wanted to shoot himself, more so than he want to shoot Italy; it's the only way to wipe those incriminating images, part of which he conjured himself, out of his own head for good.

Can anyone in this world sink to such despicable low as he just did? _Anyone?_

Apparently yes.

Germany was blushing, too.

From the shared acumen of frazzled husbands, Sweden was pretty sure he had just found a compatriot in this deeper ring of Psychological Purgatory. They both opened their mouths to attempt at some trite comment, but could not find anything that would not further implicate themselves.

So they settled for a very sincere apology to each other.

"S…sorry about that."

"M' fault."

And bat a hasty retreat with their respective partners; Italy, to receive punishment for handing out unlicensed sex education, and Finland, well, shall we say an end-of-the-class pop quiz?

* * *

Finland was vaguely aware that Su-san must be carrying all the bags with one hand (_isn't that heavy?_) because he sure wasn't carrying any, and Su-san still had one hand tightly clenched around his wrist. Finland couldn't be sure, of course, because he didn't dare take his one free hand off his face since Italy started blurting. He had hoped that their walk to home would never end.

But then they were home. He heard the door shut behind him, and then the paper bags being dropped haphazardly on the floor. Still staring into his fingers, he inched back as far as Su-san's tight grip would allow.

In those few but infinitely long seconds, all Finland could hear was Su-san heavy breathing punctuated by blood pounding in his own ears.

At last.

"Finland."

In that deep, tight voice.

_Oh no. Oh no he's going to forgive isn't he?_

"I'm sorry!" A high-pitched entreaty, and to Finland's horror, he couldn't stop babbling.

"I'm really sorry! I was… I just thought… I'm really bad at it, and… and you're always so perfect and I feel so useless! So I thought… I just want—"

"Ta learn a few tricks t'impress me?"

That was said with such equanimity that Finland decided to revise his prediction.

_Maybe he won't forgive me after all. Good. _

_No, not good._

He carefully peaked through his fingers, and found Su-san's face was even more unreadable than usual.

Then he was hauled up bodily and deposited on the edge of their kitchen bar counter. Before he could wriggle away, Sweden planted both hands on the counter, effectively caging him in. His blue eyes bore into his with a dangerous narrow.

"Ya sayin I should be grateful?"

Finland was quickly hyperventilating. He always knew what Su-san was capable of, he just never expect ever be on the receiving end of it.

But before Finland could start shaking, Sweden pulled back.

"Guess I should be."

_What?_

"But it ain't fair makin ya do all the work, righ'?"

_Wait, what?_

"How 'bout I pay Germany a visit an' see wha' he can teach me?"

Finland choked on his breath with a pitiful _eek! _

Naughty images started to materialize in Finland's head.

"Considin' all those readings ya gave 'im, I'm sure he's good."

_He's still mad about the Christmas presents?_

"We'll 'ave a grand time exchangin'—"

"No! Su-san! Don't say it!"

_No no no don't think don't think don't think— _

"How 'bout I show'im what I did last—"

"No! Su-san! No!"

Panicking, Finland covered Sweden mouth with both hands, only to be pulled away.

"Ya can watch if you wa—"

Finland hastily pulled him down into a sloppy kiss, finally shutting him up.

A long pause of mindless snogging, Finland pulled back, only to confront the horrible realization that thoughts, naughty ones especially, are not designed to be unthinked regardless of their propriety.

He cradled his head and moaned.

"Su-san! Why did you say that!"

There was a rare roguish smile playing at the corner of Sweden's lips.

"Gotta taste of wha' I hadda deal with?"

Finland, still battling his mental images, was too bewildered to respond.

Then he felt Sweden whispered into his ear.

"Don't worry, I'll take ya' mind offa that righ' now. And next time ya' wanna learn somethin' new, I'll teach ya."

Sweden bent down, and now Finland had to cover his own mouth to shut himself up.

* * *

Finland's birthday party proceeded without a hitch. Delicious hors d'œuvre flowing Champagne, a beautiful white cake. The works. Guests toasted and squeezed past each other in the living room that was reorganized for the occasion.

Extricating himself from the bustle, Finland sat down in the couch at the corner with his third glass of Champagne. There were many toasts to his good health that he was obliged to accept. He was getting a bit dizzy. Birthday party is a lot of work.

Well, that's insincere. Su-san did most of the work for him.

Feeling the couch sag a little, he looked up to see Italy joining him.

"Happy birthday Finland! Your house is so nice!"

"Th… thank you."

What was he going to do? Ignore him? Besides, Su-san and him has already resolved their… issues last night, so there's really no point getting mad a Italy's big mouth anymore.

"I hope he was impressed?"

"Eh…" was all Finland could think of without getting into the details.

"Glad to hear that! I'm really happy I could help!"

Italy patted him roundly on the back, and Finland tried to smile at his exuberance. It really is impossible to stay mad at him.

Suddenly, he felt the hair stood up at the back of his neck.

Finland looked around, and saw, between the guests, on the other side of the room, Su-san staring at them. Such an intense stare it was that he certainly was not paying attention of what Germany was saying next to him.

Before Finland had time to realize what was wrong and put some distance between and himself and Italy, Sweden gracefully allowed his chute of Champagne to tip over his hand and onto Germany's clothes, right above the belt.

A mild commotion ensued on that side of the room. Sweden took a napkin and began blotting Germany's soaked uniform. Germany went a bit pink.

Finland felt something snapped in his head.

He drained his Champagne, pushed the glass into Italy's hands and stood up.

* * *

"S' sorry abou' tha'. I got distracted." Sweden diligently wiped down Germany's clothes with a frown.

"Ah… it's alright. At least it wasn't red wine. I can do this, don't worry about it." Germany flailed a bit.

"Sweden's getting tipsy, isn't he?" Lithuania smiled good naturedly.

Poland swung around and hung himself off Lithuania's shoulder with a happy drawl.

"At least is wasn't on your crotch, or else I'd think your either very scared or very happy to see Italy drunk."

Germany went a bit pink at the scurrilous joke.

" I can put this in th' laundry now if ya wan'." Sweden offered. "It'a be done when ya leave."

"Would you? That would be nice."

Germany unbuttoned his coat, and Sweden reached out to help.

That is, before Finland barreled out of the crowd and pushed his hand away.

"No!"

There was a collective silence as everyone gawked at the rare outburst from Finland, who threw his arms around Sweden's waist from behind in a protective clasp.

"No! Don't touch him!"

Sweden looked over his shoulder, his deadpanned face tinged with just a little crafty smile of a prank well pulled.

"I was gonna hol' his glas—"

"I don't care! You're mine!"

There was an audible snort from France who desperately tried to suppress his giggles.

"Finland, Germany's clothes—"

Before Sweden could finish, Finland dragged him into their room and shut the door midst cat calls and whistles.

Sealand made a face.

"Eww! Papa and Daddy's making out!"

America threw his arm around England.

"Hey let's make out, too!"

England held out his plate in front of America.

"You don't want your cake?"

The Brit pressed that merry face, glasses and all, straighten into the plate of cake he was holding.

* * *

With his back against the door, Sweden watched with mild amusement as Finland fumbled to unbutton his shirt.

"Finland, the guests—"

"—can take care of themselves!"

The last button popped out.

Sweden shrugged and let his wife have his way.

"It's yar party."

* * *

Germany absently mindedly wiped off his uniform, staring the shut door with a flabbergasted look still on his face.

Norway tapped him on the shoulder.

"The laundry room is the next to the kitchen."

"Oh thanks."

Germany shook himself out and took off his coat.

Italy bounded over and gave him a sympathetic look.

"Aww Germany! Your clothes are all mess up! Here, you have my p— "

"Put your clothes back on this instance!"

"But you always liked it when I take ofwrmph—"

Germany speedily covered Italy's mouth like someone well trained at the job.

France cackled like madman.

"Watch it mon ami! Loose lips sink ships and give lousy blowjobs!"

* * *

*The End*

Author's notes:

* Sweden and Germany. Hotness. Cannot Unthink.

* Sweden and Germany… Damn the ineluctable modality of the visual… Alright be honest, who caught the reference without googling?

* The last line is not mine, but borrowed without permission from an HP slash fic "A Taste of Liberty" by the ingenious lamardeuse. I simply had to use it. All laughs generated by this line belongs to lamardeuse.

* I don't know when's the next update, but I certainly had a lot of fun writing this series, so I won't be surprised if I decide to write more, just give me a few years lol.


End file.
